


Before "Brother"

by Romirola



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis is the newest musketeers in the regiment, Athos comforting Aramis after a rescue, Concussed Aramis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Aramis, Hurt/Comfort, Origin of a Friendship, Prequel, Savior Athos, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6761344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romirola/pseuds/Romirola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel.  Before they called each other “brother,” Athos and Aramis had to first call each other “friend.”  When Athos rescues newest musketeer Aramis from a mission gone wrong, he helps him find his place among the ranks. This story is for Deana, who requested an Aramis-whump story as repayment for a favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before "Brother"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deana/gifts).



> Hello, all! Thank you for reading this prequel story. A special thank you to Deana, whose request inspired this story. I hope I have done you justice, and that you enjoy it!

Athos shifted his weight, crossing the heal of his left foot onto his right knee.  He rubbed at his calf to ward off the stinging sensation that arose whenever he sat idle for too long.  With a sigh, he looked down at the still form on the tiny mattress.  “What did they do to you, Aramis?” he said.  When he received no response, Athos unlaced his boots and slumped further into the wobbly chair.  His brim of his hat slid over his eyes and he slipped into a light doze.

Even though he had ridden for hours on little sleep and littler food, Athos could not stay asleep.  As soon as he surrendered himself to slumber, Athos found himself in a dank cellar. 

_He steps forward, one arm shielding his mouth and nose while the other stretches out in front of him.  There is one thin beam of light from a crack in the ceiling structure, but it is not nearly enough for Athos to see anything._

_“Hello?” he calls out.  “Is anyone here?”_

_Gravel crumbles and falls onto his hat._

_Athos coughs slightly, but continues to trudge through the cramped room anyway.  “Hello?”  His palm smacks against a wall and he drags his hand back and forth to see if there is a space for a door.  “If you are here, answer me!”_

Athos flinched, jarring himself from his sleep.  He reached at his hat, half expecting the debris to be there.  He had only spent a brief time in the chamber, but clearly his few observations were sufficient to give him realistic dreams. 

The musketeer lying on the bed had been forced to stay in that cramped room for much longer than Athos.  He had not stirred since passing out in the midst of the rescue.  Athos could only hope that if a person dreamt in unconsciousness, the dreams would at least be peaceful.   Judging from his experience, Athos doubted it. 

“You are safe, Aramis,” he said, wondering if his voice could penetrate whatever scene was playing out before the newer musketeer’s mind. 

Aramis had earned his commission shortly after Athos had secured his own.  As soon as Aramis had been introduced to the rest of the regiment as the newest member, the harmless but annoying pranks that had plagued Athos suddenly found a new target.  Athos was relieved to see his chairs become stable enough to hold him, his bedsheets had been emptied of chickens, and the hot water he procured for a bath did not contain oils from some type of plant that turned his skin red and puffy. 

The other men had focused their attention onto Aramis now.  Athos had witnessed the pranks and even agreed to keep quiet when he walked in on when Blanc and Guerin perching a bucket of honey atop the door to Aramis’s room.  Athos could not remember, however, an instance when Aramis had complained or showed any disdain for the tricks. He would simply smile, nod to himself a few times, wipe his face clean when applicable, and laugh along with his comrades.  It was a grating habit and Athos wondered how much longer the men would continue to try to get a rise out of the even-tempered man.  It worried him, however, that Aramis was so accepting of the worst chores, food, and assignments.  Athos could tell the young man did not feel like he belonged in the ranks of the regiment, so he overcompensated by agreeing to anything and everything asked of him. 

Athos would have never guessed Aramis had a wild side, but after the day’s events, Athos would never forget raw animalistic rage Aramis showed.  If any of the other musketeers had found Aramis as Athos had earlier that day, they would have scarcely recognized Aramis.

_As he was about to turn and make his way out of what he thought was a dead end, Athos hears a muffled thump from behind the wall and feels a pounding vibration._

_“Aramis?  ARAMIS?”  He leans against what he thought was a wall and feels the material give under his weight.  “Aramis, hang on!  I’m coming in!”_

_The pounding stops._

_Athos backs up to get a running starts and uses his shoulder to make an entryway.  He falls to the ground as the hidden door does the same.  Once he stands up, Athos realizes he is in a secret room in the cellar.  It is lighted brighter than the rest of the area, but the three candles that gave off light had nearly burned themselves out.  Athos snatches the candle that looks the longest and waves it around the small room._

_Aramis is tied to a chair, his arms forced between the spindles of the chair and his head flopped backward, exposing his throat.  Before Athos can react, Aramis’s feet meet his chest and Athos stumbles a step backwards at the force.  He drops the candle and lets it roll on the floor, extinguished and forgotten.  Frayed rope sits on the ground, causing Athos to wonder how long it took Aramis to work his ankles free._

_“Aramis, it’s me,” he gasps.  “Athos.”_

_“No!  No more lies,” Aramis brays.  “No more questions!  I don’t know, I swear.”  He tries to stand, but his legs fold underneath him he trips into Athos’s arms.  “I’ll kill you, I’ll rip your throat from your gullet!” he raves, struggling to stand as Athos quickly subdues him by restraining his arms.  “I don’t know, can’t you see that?  I don’t know!”_

_The full brunt of Aramis’s weight slams into Athos and he realizes the musketeers finally slipped into unconsciousness.  Athos puts his hand to Aramis’s back to center his weight and a sticky substance coats it.  Athos leans forward, feeling for an open wound on Aramis’s back.  He finds none, but when Aramis’s head tips onto his chest, Athos feels the liquid begin to soak into his chest.  Even in the dark, Athos knows that Aramis has suffered a serious blow to the head, not counting any injuries that the darkness concealed._

Athos blinked to reconnect himself with the present.  He cleaned Aramis’s head wound as best as he could, using strips of a spare shirt to staunch the bleeding.  Aramis did not move a muscle through the entire process, for which Athos was eternally grateful.  Since there was little else Athos could do for a concussion, he busied himself with cleaning the rope burns that marred the younger man’s legs and busies that mottled his torso and chest.  The gash at the back of Aramis’s head was the most unpredictable and therefore, the most worrisome to Athos.

“Will you wake soon?” Athos sighed.  If the answer were no, Athos knew that meant Aramis might never recover. 

Aramis’s legs twitched in a spasm, kicking off the blanket.  “No…” he mumbled, unaware he was answering Athos’s rhetorical question.  When he tried to scratch at the bandage wrapped around his forehead, Athos caught his hand and kept it in his own.  “I don’t know, I don’t know.”  Aramis whipped his head back and forth, all while continuing his litany. 

“Aramis, Aramis!” Athos called, pleased that Aramis was awakening but he did not want the injured man to hurt himself even more.  “It’s me.  Athos.  You know, the quiet one.”  He squeezed Aramis’s wrist.  “You are safe, I promise.  You are away from that place.” 

Aramis jumped at Athos’s commanding tone.  “Leave me alone, I know nothing.  I don’t know, I don’t know!”  Aramis tried to sit himself up, but dizziness overcame him.  His shoulders hunched over and he felt himself falling forward.

Athos was quick to react.  “Aramis, look at me, please?  Look at me and breathe.”  He slowly angled Aramis’s face to meet his eyes.  He sucked in a large breath and blew it out, gesturing for Aramis to do the same.  By some miracle, Aramis followed the musketeer’s example.  When Athos was satisfied Aramis could handle the task without his guidance, he continued speaking.   “I found you this morning and brought you to this inn.   We’re safe.  You must be mindful of your injuries.”

His thick brow pulled taut across his forehead, as if he were struggling to make sense of Athos’s simple speech.  “Away,” he finally said.  “Safe.”

“Yes,” Athos quickly confirmed.  “Away.  Safe.”  As he watched Aramis survey the room, Athos saw coherency fill his comrade’s eyes.  “How do you feel?”

“Fine, considering… all that has happened,” Aramis said.  His mouth drooped into a frown and despite Athos’s intense staring, Aramis could not hold his gaze.  “I apologize for requiring rescuing.  My first solo mission seems to have turned into a duet.”

“No apology is needed,” said Athos.  “The regiment was foolish to classify this mission as a job for one man.”  He poured some water into a glass and helped Aramis drink half of it.  “Would like to discuss what happened?”

Aramis relaxed against the pillow behind his head.  “Thank you for your kindness, Athos.”  He pressed his lips into a thin line to induce a pretense of formality.  The throbbing in his head was steadily increasing from annoyance to unbearable.   

“That is not an answer to my question.”

Aramis let his eyes shut for a moment.  “In and out.  Deliver the package to the Duke and go.  That’s, that’s all it was supposed to be.  But they were waiting for me,” he said.  “I thought I had been unnoticed, but the renegades were waiting for me.  I think they hit me.”  He rubbed his left temple.  “I woke up and was, well, I don’t know where.  That place,” he snarled.  “Where you found me.  That’s where I was.”

“Not a pleasant experience, I imagine,” Athos interjected.

_“What was the purpose of the package?” one of the men asks again.  His blond hair is pulled into a tight pony tail and his voice sounds like he had swallowed rocks.  “Tell us, and this will be over.”_

_“I don’t know,” Aramis mumbles before bracing himself for another punch to his gut.  “I don’t know why, I don’t know…”_

_“Stupid musketeer,” the other man sneers.  He is shorter and less muscular than his partner, but he prefers to use a knife during his turn at interrogation, so there is no reprieve for Aramis’s pain.  “Don’t your superiors tell you why you go out on these pointless missions?”  His partner takes the liberty of slamming his fist across Aramis’s face.  “Or do you follow orders blindly?  A tin solider who does as he is told and questions nothing?  Can you even think for yourself?”  Another blow lands on Aramis’s already-sore ribs._

_The questions swirl around in his mind, but Aramis’s thinking is sluggish and disjointed.  “I don’t know,” he whines.  He cannot keep up with all the questions and the pain stops him from trying.  All he knows is that he does not know, and until he could convince his captors of this fact, the pain would continue.  “No more questions, I know nothing.  I swear, I don’t know…”_

He began to take quick and shallow breaths.  “I don’t know,” he said, looking past Athos’s shoulders.  “I don’t know.”

“Aramis, Aramis!”  This time, Athos did shake his friend to bring him back to the real world.  “Come back to me.  You are away, safe.” 

“Away.  Safe,” Aramis mimicked for his own sake.  “Thank you.  You have saved me twice today.”

“I am sorry to have made you relive that hell,” Athos cringed.  “But I thought, perhaps, speaking of it now will ease the pain later.”

The younger man gave a begrudging nod.  “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

“It is a shared experience of all soldiers, I believe.”  Athos loosened the collar of his shirt.  “You acted with bravery and honor.  Your wounds will heal, the pain will decrease, but the pride will remain.”

“Pride,” Aramis scoffed.  “I don’t think there is much to be proud of.  I allowed myself to be captured, lost my senses under their interrogation, and forced a superior to save me from certain death.”

“I am not your superior,” Athos corrected immediately.  “And you have failed to mention that you told the renegades nothing, the Duke’s materials were delivered, and that you are alive.  Your mission has been a success.”  The clipped tone left no room for disagreement. 

“Oh.”  Aramis considered that logic.  “Well, I’ll accept that report.” 

Perhaps if he had not been concussed, he would have thought of something else to strike down Athos’s claim.  Today, however, he was tired, sore, and in pain.  Today, Athos’s declaration was enough.

“But, Athos,” he said.  “I do consider you my superior.  I consider everyone my superior.  I have only just earned a commission, and you all seem to know so much about musketeers business.  How to behave in court, how to balance your duties with your pleasures, how to, well, be a musketeer.  None of it comes instinctually to me.”

“I know it’s hard to be the new man,” Athos empathized.  “The practical jokes are relentless and the extra work is exhausting.  And I know all that because before you, I was the new man.”

“You wh−” Aramis swallowed.  “But the men respect you so much.  I presumed you had been commissioned young, that you had been around for years…”

“I am not telling you this to gloat,” Athos clarified.  “I am telling you this because I want you to give yourself the respect you deserve.  You are a musketeer, Aramis.  You have much in common with the men in our regiment, just by that title alone.  It is time you consider yourself a member of the group, rather than an observer.”

Aramis nodded silently, knowing Athos was correct. 

“And if you want to learn how to improve your skills, you need to speak up, ask questions, challenge us.  You have good ideas, I know you do,” the older man continued.  “Or else you would never have been awarded that pauldron.”  Athos tapped his own and felt a swell of joy.  “We are not servants, Aramis.  We are human, and we need to be informed enough to make our own decisions.  And that is what a solo-mission should teach you.”   

“Thank you, my friend.  I became a musketeer over a month ago, but today is the first day I feel like I belong here.”  Aramis’s eyelids dipped downwards.  “I am honored to think of you as an equal.”

“As am I,” Athos said succinctly.  “And now, I think you should get some more rest before we continue our journey back to Paris.  Your head wound must be making you drowsy and you’ve stayed up long enough to sleep for a few hours.  I’ll wake you in a while to check your health.”

Aramis’s chin dropped to his chest, but he refused to let his eyes close.  “This talking with you, it is nice.  Perhaps we can continue this conversation for a little bit?” The ordeal he had endured had been tortuous, but relief swept over him when he realized that he was, for the first time, able to call a fellow musketeer a true friend.

“We will continue it later,” affirmed Athos.  “Now is not the time for dissent among the ranks.”  He clasped his hand over Aramis and swept his thumb back and forth to ease his young friend’s pain.

Aramis was about to say something, but when a blink turned into closed lids, the injured man felt himself slipping away into sleep. 

This was the first day Aramis and Athos had considered the other a friend.  Both had a feeling that soon, they would call each other, ‘brother.’ 


End file.
